


Deep Browns and Warm Reds

by vonherder



Series: Cherry Chocolate [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Death Fix, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonherder/pseuds/vonherder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was certainly not what he had expected to find. He’d expected assassins and gunfire. Old enemies, perhaps, but he didn’t expect Tony.</p><p>Then again, he <i>never</i> expected Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Browns and Warm Reds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/15292.html?thread=33719996#t33719996
> 
> The basic gist of it: After Phil gets out of the hospital he finds Tony asleep in his bed, cuddling up to a pillow wrapped in one of Phil's old t-shirts.
> 
> Also, the title is a reference to the scene in the book that the quote, below, is from. Which is a thing with me. ~~Tony is my Caliban.~~

“It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but, hell, it was cherry chocolate.”  
– Caliban Leandros, _Moonshine_ by Rob Thurman

 

It was strange—though not unwelcome—to see Tony wearing his clothes. He couldn’t say he had never thought about it, but he had never really imagined it possible. Of all the things he might have expected, this certainly didn’t make the list.

Phil lowered is gun, but didn’t move from the door way. 

He’d arrived home to find that the lock had been picked and all his alarms disabled and _this_ … This was certainly not what he had expected to find. He’d expected assassins and gunfire. Old enemies, perhaps, but he didn’t expect Tony.

Then again, he _never_ expected Tony. 

Phil set down his gun, stepped away from the door and quietly rounded the bed, slipping off his jacket as he went. He toed off his shoes, careful not to wake the sleeping man. He had figured that Tony would know that he’d survived, but he never imagined that the billionaire would ever wait up for him like this. Or that he would even care. That he would even bat an eye.

The man in question was curled up is his bed in an old, ratty sweater striped with thick bands of dark brown and caramel and russety reds. He snuffled quietly into one of Phil’s pillows, lying against it as if it were another person. He had even covered it with one of Phil’s old t-shirts. His hair, longer than Phil had ever seen it, brushed against the top of his cheek.

Fondness bloomed, loud and warm, in Phil’s chest.

Slowly and silently, he stripped off the rest of his clothes until he was left in his undershirt and boxers. He watched for any signs that the other man was waking, but he seemed dead to the world. He allowed himself a small smile as he settled on the edge of the bed.

Tony didn’t stir when Phil shifted closer, nor when Phil gently slipped the pillow from his grasp. He didn’t wake when Phil shifted into its place and slid his arm beneath Tony’s neck. He didn’t even move when his cheek was pressed against Phil’s chest. But the instant Phil let out a quiet, contented sigh, Tony startled awake and sat up like a shot.

Phil blinked in surprise and held up his hands. “Hey, _hey_ ,” he soothed, “Calm down. It’s just me.”

Tony took a steadying breath and blinked down at him owlishly, gnawing at his lip. One unsteady hand reached up to gently touch Phil’s cheek, “Hi.”

Phil smiled and turned his head to nuzzle at the warm fingers, “Hi.”

Tony stared down at him for a few more moments before he gave a nod and settled down against Phil once more, tucking himself tight against his side. He fisted his fingers tight in the fabric of Phil’s shirt and made a happy sound, “This is new.”

 _Yes it is_ , Phil wanted to say. New and wonderful and everything that he’d hope it would be. He wanted to say that it was perfect. That it was far better than he’d ever imagined. That he couldn’t believe he had never given into his urge to just _hold_ Tony close like this. 

But Tony spoke again, low and muffled against Phil’s chest. “This is nice,” he said, as he nestled back down against Phil’s side, sighing happily into his chest. “I like this.”

Phil just curled his arm around Tony’s shoulders and brought his other hand up to tangle with Tony’s. He pressed a kiss into Tony’s unruly hair.

“This is a good dream.”

The statement caught Phil off-guard.

Tony spoke up again, before Phil could even think of something to say, “Sometimes I open my eyes and you’re just lying next to me, smiling at me. You don’t really touch me or say anything, but that’s okay, because you don’t really have to.” He turned in face into Phil’s chest the slightest bit, “And sometimes you’re waking me up and telling me to come eat breakfast or, ‘ _let’s go out today_ ,’ or ‘ _I have to go to work_.’ But when I sit up to follow it’s over and I’m alone.

“Usually though,” Tony began with a wide yawn, “I open my eyes and everything smells like bacon and coffee. And when I get to the kitchen, you’re there making pancakes. And you smile at me, and everything’s okay for a while.”

Phil tightened his arms around Tony and tightly shut his eyes.

“I like that one,” Tony whispered and pressed as close to Phil as he possibly could. “But this dream is my favourite.”

A hollow pain flared, cold, in his chest. He had been wrong; this wasn’t Tony waiting up for him, this was Tony _mourning_. He didn’t even realize—didn’t _know_ — that Phil was anything more than a dream. Tony didn’t know that he was awake, that Phil was _alive_. 

He wanted to scream at Tony that it was real, that _he_ was real. That it wasn’t a dream. But, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. He couldn’t possibly allow himself to shatter the peace Tony had built for himself, not yet. In the morning, he would say the words and try his damnedest to prove them true. There would be screaming and yelling, and Phil was fairly certain that Tony wouldn’t hesitate to hit him, but it would be worth it, in the end. It had to be.

He wanted, so badly, to say it all, but he couldn’t take this bit of peace from Tony. Not yet. Instead of any those things, he pressed another kiss to Tony’s head and asked, “What kind of pancakes?”

“Cherry chocolate,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. In truth, it probably was.

Phil merely nodded and shifted onto his side, so that he could hug Tony tight to his chest.

“I miss you, Phil.”

He closed his eyes and turned a little bit further into Tony’s warmth. “Phil, huh?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the thick emotions in his voice. “What ever happened to ‘Agent’?”

“You didn’t like it,” Tony said with a huff. “It was stupid, I know, but you never seemed like a _darling_ or _sweetheart_ kind of guy.”

“I like it, Tony.”

The man _humphed_ into Phil’s chest, “Yeah, sure, you say that _now_.”

“I always liked it,” Phil said quietly, and dragged his fingertips through Tony’s hair as the man grew heavy against him. “I swear it.”

“Yeah?” Tony mumbled sleepily into Phil’s neck. “Swear on what?”

“On cherry chocolate pancakes,” he said, instantly, because it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tony made a soft sounds and Phil could feel a small smile form against his clavicle. “Love you,” he said, quiet and voice heavy with sleep. 

Phil ran his hand up and down Tony’s back, soothed by the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. In the morning he would slip out of bed and make breakfast and coffee. He’d try to find some words to explain what happened, why he’d disappeared, why he was back. He’d try to make Tony understand. He’d try to kiss the man, probably. 

In the morning, to the scent of coffee and cherry chocolate pancakes, he’d try his damnedest to make everything all right again, but for the moment… The bed was soft and Tony was warm and, finally, he was home.

“Love you, too,” he said, eventually, met only by the sound of silence from the dreaming man.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a thing that has pissed me off more than I can even begin to put into words. Like, so much, you don't even know. It just kept going and evolving until it barely even resembled the prompt. I kept thinking, “Oh! I know just what to do now! It’s almost over! Yay!” And then it changed and I had to start over. So, this is basically the very, very first thing that I wrote for it, because I gave up on all the others that sprouted from it.. It’s not edited, really [because it is really, seriously just a first draft] , so feel free to point out my mistakes. I’ll probably edit it more in the future and might write more, maybe? I don't know. In any case, I'm glad it's done and I'm glad I finally went with this.


End file.
